Redemption
by buzzedib
Summary: 1st fanfic so go easy on me. Definitely an itch I needed to scratch. Set in series 3, Anzac Day but before Jean drops the Adelaide bomb. Angsty, some graphic imagery and heavy content. Not all heavy though. As a POW, Lucien is sure to have suffered some trauma but very little of it is explored in the show. Shooting for 2 chapters, this is the first.
1. Chapter 1

As Jean walked leisurely down the driveway breathing in the cool night air, she glanced towards the front door and saw Matthew making his way out of the house. A quick scan revealed his police vehicle off to the side, but no sign of Lucien's car. Upon his approach, she stopped to greet him. "Good evening, Matthew."

He smiled at her, hands in pockets. "Evening, Jean."

It wasn't unusual for him to stop by the house after dinner to discuss work or even just to socialize. She made the assumption his visit was police-related but inquired nonetheless. "What brings you by so late?"

His foot scuffed the driveway as he shifted, gazing downward. "Ohhh, just capping off a long day." Looking up, he motioned towards the house with his head. "Didn't look like you were home so I just wanted to make sure he got in ok."

"I see." She waited for him to offer something additional but there was only silence. "Everything alright?"

"Well, to be honest, I don't think this is the easiest of days for him. We stopped at the Colonists Club on the way home and he may have had one too many."

So he was drunk, she thought to herself. Nothing new there really.

"Actually," he hesitated before continuing, "there was a bit of a row as we were leaving."

That got Jean's attention. "Oh?"

"Not his fault this time, I'm afraid. He was helping us more than anything."

She didn't look convinced.

"Honestly Jean, it was nothing really, just some bumps and bruises. But I thought you should know."

She smiled nervously nodding her head, unsure of what she was walking into. "Well thank you Matthew. Have a good night."

Already on his way to the car, he turned around to say, "Good night, Jean."

As Jean opened the front door, she felt her nerves kick in which was the case more often than not when she anticipated seeing Lucien. She removed her coat and carefully rested it on the hook. As she took a few steps towards the kitchen, Lucien's desk was visible from the hallway and she couldn't help but notice a poured glass of whiskey next to a half empty bottle. This prompted her to peak her head into the surgery. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucien near the examination table, a bottle of antiseptic in his hand.

Initially startled to hear the door, Lucien glanced in that general direction and upon realizing it was Jean, he did little to hide his sense of contentment. "Oh Jean, you're home." He attempted a half-smile as he turned to her apprehensively, like a child anticipating a scolding.

Taking inventory, Jean noticed a large scrape on his left arm where his shirt was torn, a fresh cut below his right eye and the overall look of having been in a fight. He was drunk but she had seen him far worse. She happened to catch his eye for a moment and was quickly overcome with a familiar feeling. Adept now at suppressing it, she reasoned that he was her employer and she was too sensible to get herself into trouble. Lucien appeared so strong and self-assured most of the time, practically bullish. It drove her mad in an electrifying sort of way, if she were honest. But on this particular evening, as with many others, it was his vulnerability that tempted her. This, coupled with his boldness, made for an alluring combination she found hard to resist. Christopher was unassuming for the most part, happy to blend into the wall. He was a simple man whose persona lacked a single layer or nuance. Lucien on the other hand was a puzzle, a challenge she found hard to back down from.

Now leaning against the door frame, arms folded, quietly she responded, "Yes. Saw Matthew in the driveway," as if to say he told her everything, even though he hadn't. "Sounds like you had quite the day."

Lucien sighed, seemingly unsure of what to do next now that Jean was present. "Nothing a little whiskey won't take care of," pointing enthusiastically to his glass.

Can I help you with that?" she asked, referring to the bottle of antiseptic.

"I'm a doctor, you know Jean."

"Right. Well it might be easier if I do it."

He didn't seem willing to comply.

She went on, "And I learned from the best." There was a slight inflection in her voice but it wasn't really a question so she made her way towards him in a deliberate manner.

She could be so disarming at times and it flustered Lucien. He smirked and nodded in agreement to hide his unease. As she moved gracefully around the desk, she picked up his glass and handed it to him. "I'll trade you."

"Ah, thank you," he said, perching himself onto the table. She took note of his unsteadiness.

Jean eased the antiseptic from his hand along with a cotton ball, placing it over the bottle as she tipped it, all the while keeping her eyes on Lucien. She went to raise her hand toward his face but the way his legs were positioned made it so that she couldn't reach him without leaning. "I can't—"

Sensing the inevitable awkwardness, he quickly cut her off before she could finish. "Oh, sorry, let me…" He hastily opened his legs providing her access but she hesitated. He then promptly closed them while moving to the side so she could stand in front of him. "There. Sorry." He simmered with embarrassment but she continued on unfazed and very gently began to dab the wound on his face.

She studied him while taking in the warm and familiar scent of alcohol on his breath, venturing to get closer

"Doesn't look too bad," she indicated somewhat cheerfully. This particular ritual brought back memories of the several times she had cleaned up Jack and Christopher after having a scrap. It felt strange with Lucien although not unpleasant.

"Oh, just a bunch of egos on a day like to today. Like you would say, stupid men having a stupid argument."

In reference to his current case she asked, "No suspects in custody then?"

Given Jean's close proximity, Lucien wondered casually what it would feel like to pull her in. This of course lead to an all too familiar frustration that permeated his body. He shuddered at the thought of how long it had been for him and how often he imagined sleeping with her. Not quite trusting himself, he avoided her eye, settling instead on the skin around her her barely exposed collar bone. Hardly realizing she asked a question, somehow he managed a reply, "Just some dead leads. Back at it tomorrow, I suppose." She appeared calm and composed despite the fact her hand was shaking ever so slightly. Not one to miss a clue, Lucien wondered if all of this was not lost on her. But his thoughts were interrupted.

"I wonder what your patients will think of this, Dr. Blake." He found her voice soothing and was grateful for the distraction.

"I think my patients know me well enough by now, Jean," stealing a quick glance with a smirk.

Capitalizing on the fact that he was looking at her, she gingerly placed her fingers on the side of his face, moving his head toward the light so she could get a better look. The unexpected contact took him by surprise. Lucien loathed feeling sorry for himself, but he struggled to recall the last time a woman had touched him tenderly in this way. Surely it had to have been Mei Lin. Or was it? He couldn't remember now.

"Jean."

"Mmm?"

Before he was able to respond and with little warning, he was suddenly gripped by a sense of discomfort. It was not entirely unfamiliar. Aware of what was to come next, he braced himself. Almost immediately, he was flooded with images of his time spent in Ban Pong. He shifted on the table to masque his distress. His most recent experience with intimate physical contact came in the form of torture, and he was surprised at how quickly those memories were provoked. Instinctively, he closed his eyes.

"Sorry, is that too much?"

His response was terse. "No, it's fine." Internally he was cursing himself and wondered if maybe this sort of intimacy would forever be a struggle for him. Quietly, he became overwhelmed with hopelessness but did his best to hide it.

Jean could sense his unease though and wondered whether she had done something wrong. "Maybe this is good for now, " she said shyly, stepping back to let him down.

He oozed off the table, trying to assure her everything was fine. "Yes, feels better already, thank you."

She narrowed her eyes at him in skepticism. In one fluid motion, she placed the bottle down before throwing the cotton ball in the trash then turned to lean against the table, positioning herself next to him.

Aware that she was on to him, Lucien attempted to recover with some small talk. "So what about you? Did you make it to the memorial?" He turned to her lifting his head and eyes, appearing eager for her response.

"I did. Met up with some old friends of mine and Christopher's. People I haven't seen in years."

His bristling at the talk of her life prior to her time in his home was imperceptible to both of them.

"So much has changed, Lucien. It's nice to share stories and catch up on old times. I mean in some ways, I feel like that time before the war never really happened. It's a distant memory now."

"Yes, seems that way, doesn't it," agreeing with her.

"But the war you know, it just took its toll."

Jean stopped there. She and Lucien had shared so much in the short time they had known each other. They had grown close as of late and at the very least, she knew she had a true friend in him. She certainly earned his trust with her fierce loyalty and protectiveness. But he had thrown up a psychological wall around his experience in the war. That was something she was simply unable to penetrate. He shared the occasional wartime anecdote in the context of something else and even spoke fondly of certain memories but anything beyond that seemed too painful to broach. Even Thomas was careful with what he revealed. The only thing she knew definitively from him was that Lucien spent time building a railway as a POW and despite the fact they weren't very close, the guilt from what Lucien had gone through seemed to have literally killed Thomas. The town gossip was just that Thomas' son was a broken man upon being set free and his parents' close friends worried that he would never return home.

So when it came to discussion about anything war-related, Jean never wanted to press Lucien. She was sure he suffered enough, as did so many others. The nightmares alone were an indicator of that. But as she stood there next to him, curiosity got the best of her. As hard as it was for her to admit, she cared for him deeply and wanted to know what had happened. Asking him outright seemed too transparent though; he would see right through that. She opted for something more indirect, already knowing the answer. "You didn't march today, I take it?"

Still holding his drink, he took a long sip. After swirling the whiskey around in his mouth and swallowing fully, he glanced at her sideways. "Uhm, no, I didn't. I had to work."

Jean was discerning enough to see through his sarcastic defense. Not letting him off the hook, she tilted her head making a plea with her eyes.

He sensed her puzzlement cuing his further response. He took a breath before explaining, "Oh, they reach out to me every year Jean, asking me to get involved but to be honest, I'm just not comfortable with it. I'm not. What's the point really?" He desperately wanted some validation.

She wondered if he felt like he was above it all but that didn't seem like Lucien.

"Is it that you don't want to be bothered? I just think it would be nice for you, Lucien. You deserve to be honored."

"Honored." He looked at her incredulously. It wasn't as much a question as it was a challenge.

"Yes."

Judging from his tone, Jean feared she had said the wrong thing. She saw he was struggling to find some words and began to wonder if this was a bad idea. Panicking now, she wanted to take it back.

"Lucien, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have pried. Matthew mentioned you had a horrible day and I seem to have made things worse. Please know, that wasn't my intention."

She took a couple of steps forward to move away from him and make her way upstairs. He thought about letting her go and then, with the quickest of reflexes, he grabbed her arm firmly and pulled her back before she got too far. Somewhat frightened, Jean turned around to face him and in quiet desperation, he locked her down with his stare. He loosened his grip once he was comfortable that she wasn't going anywhere. It seemed their conversation wasn't over.

"Just…gimme a minute."

He began working his jaw still searching for what he was going to say. She stood frozen, scared to open her mouth.

He figured to himself that it would just be easier to remain evasive. Hell, why burden her with this? There were many times he contemplated opening up to her, but he feared her reaction. And selfishly, he didn't want to be let down when she inevitably wouldn't understand. But it did occur to him that she was the only person who ever cared enough to ask and for that reason, he felt like he owed her a proper answer.

"Well…to be honest, I was captured, Jean. I mean where's the honor in that?" He looked at her blankly.

The bluntness of what he said really struck her. It was inconceivable to her that he could truly see it that way and she naively thought she could convince him otherwise. "But you survived, Lucien."

He opened his mouth to fire off a rebuttal then hesitated. Finally he conceded, "That's not how I see it I'm afraid."

Lucien saw the disappointment in her eyes mixed with confusion and knew he needed to explain further. He also felt the self-recrimination seeping in. He had shouldered this burden for years now but had succeeded in burying it so he could carry on with his life. And that had worked well. Now it seemed he was being called to confront a demon.

"Do you know, Jean? I left a man to die all alone when I was captured. A young officer."

Lucien spoke softly, almost hoping she wouldn't hear him. He tried to gauge her reaction, secretly wanting to cower, and although she didn't respond, the look in her eye encouraged him to continue. So he did, slowly.

"He was very badly wounded…on the outskirts of a swamp. I had a medic with me and we went in to try to save him. But it was so difficult to move and the two of us struggled to reach him…" his breathing now slightly labored.

"…it was just…it was dark and they were waiting for us in the brush."

From the corner of her eye, Jean saw his throat move as he swallowed hard.

"Unfortunately, we couldn't see them."

Lucien remembered vividly the smell in the air as he recalled the next part. "The medic was a few steps behind me when suddenly there were all sorts of loud commotion…and within seconds he was covered in bullets. I mean you could barely see his arm band - they had just laid him out. And I thought for sure I was next assuming those bullets were meant for me." He paused again as he felt the need to check in with Jean but her look was hard to decipher.

"Somehow I was spared but they beat me pretty badly."

He kept his head down now while Jean tried unsuccessfully to hold back the tears that had welled in her eyes.

"I was barely conscious being dragged off and all I could hear was that young man screaming. Just begging for me to save him and not to leave him." His voice cracking now, "He didn't want to die alone, you know?"

Jean for her part stood shocked and heartbroken, unable to move. She had covered her mouth with the back of her hand trying to absorb all he was saying.

"And I've just never been able to shake that image. Between the medic and the officer, I'm haunted by it. I feel responsible…for both of them really."

His voice was unsteady but he wasn't crying.

Jean was at a loss for words. "Lucien, I had no idea."

"Well I've never shared it with anyone."

"Not even your father?"

"I did tell my father. In a letter. But we never discussed it after that. I couldn't burden him when he was dying."

"Matthew?"

"No. Not even Matthew."

Lucien took a cleansing breath as he gathered himself. "There are certainly more stories where that came from but what can you do? It was such a long time ago now," as if hitting a reset button to erase everything that had poured out of him. Anticipating some sort of relief, he slowly turned to face Jean. But as their eyes met, he was stunned by how utterly exposed he felt. It took only a second for her to decipher the shame he had been trying to hide. It was familiar to her because she recognized it in herself. It didn't last long though. Within an instant, it was replaced by a deep vacancy that settled into the recesses of his eyes. Lucien stared off into the distance as he felt himself slipping away from his body. Mindlessly, he raised his glass to his lips and it became apparent that his hand was trembling uncontrollably.

"Lucien." Jean cautiously covered his his hand with hers as she pulled the glass down and away from him with her other hand. This seemed to have brought him back. She looked up at him now pleading. "You know there is nothing you could have done to save either those men." She anxiously searched him for some type of acknowledgement. "Please tell me you know that."

He brushed her off, . "Jean, please. I'm fine."

She now had her hands on both of his arms attempting to connect with him but he stepped back trying to gain some distance and space. She closed in on him.

Shaking his head, "Please don't, Jean, I…" The urgency of his demand was weakened by the quivering of his voice. He was unable to finish his sentence. In an effort to maintain some sense of control, he moved his hand to the back of his head smoothing down his hair, a common gesture for him when he was uncomfortable. But it was pointless; he could feel himself coming undone. Jean was overcome with emotion as she witnessed him breaking. Intuitively she pulled him in, fully expecting him to push her away. But he was heavy with grief, unable to resist. With a sense of defeat, he leaned forward and reluctantly buried his face into the crook of her neck as he began to sob, repeating her name, as if begging for forgiveness. His arms eventually secured themselves around her, as she cried with him bearing all of his weight. The words felt so inadequate but she found herself whispering, "I'm so sorry, Lucien. I'm so sorry," as they continued to hold each other for the next few moments.

Finally unable to shed another tear and feeling quite drained, Lucien peeled himself away from Jean. He wiped his eyes hard and rubbed his face before focussing on her. The shame was gone, replaced now by embarrassment. He shook his head briefly then looked away. He was terrified of what might come out of his mouth so he stuck to the facts. "Jean, my head is pounding. I think I need to go to bed."

She hesitated before responding, observing his weariness. "Yes, of course, Lucien." She placed her hand on his arm in a caring gesture. "I'll get you some water if you want to grab the Bex." And with that, she left for the kitchen.

"Thank you, Jean."

Upon her exit, Lucien retrieved what was left of whiskey and worked it down in one gulp. He walked over to his desk to place the glass down but feeling entirely sober now and knowing sleep would not come easily, he decided to pour another finger's width. Again he drained it. Barely able to process what had just happened, he sighed as he haphazardly untucked his shirt and worked his remaining buttons. Needing a cigarette badly, he rifled through his desk searching for the few he kept hidden in the drawer. Nothing. Then he remembered there were a couple in his dresser so he strode across the hallway into his bedroom.

Jean arrived back at the surgery only to realize he was gone. "Lucien?"


	2. Chapter 2

I am so very sorry for the delay in getting this chapter posted. Life just sort of happened but I realize it's really no fun having to wait. If I ever do it again, I promise to have the chapters ready to go before posting. And thank you so much for all of your comments - they are much appreciated!

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There was no response but she could hear him fumbling in the bedroom behind her.

Upon retrieving the cigarette, Lucien heard her call to him. He abruptly slammed the dresser drawer then hastily made himself presentable again before appearing in the doorway just as she turned around.

"Oh. There you are."

He looked at her sheepishly as he held up his hand revealing his cause for disappearance.

She noted he was still trembling.

"Lucien, no need to hide it. You're a grown man…it doesn't bother me what you do."

It wasn't entirely truthful but he looked relieved nonetheless.

She tried to appear light-hearted as she admitted, "To be honest, I can see why you would need one."

Lucien smiled in acknowledgement as he crossed the hallway. Placing his hand behind her, he effortlessly guided her back into his office.

Jean allowed herself to be whisked along without giving it much thought. She planted herself in one of the seats near the desk, placing the glass of water next to a stack of papers. It didn't seem he would be needing the Bex. She was feeling rather drained herself but she kept her eyes fixed on Lucien, displaying a genuine concern for how he was doing.

This registered with him as he caught her eye, warmed by her affection. He headed for the tall filing cabinet upon which sat a small leather valet containing change, a couple of loose buttons and amongst other things, a book of matches.

Placing the cigarette in his mouth, he simultaneously reached up to retrieve the matches with his free hand. It became quite obvious that this was something he had done many times before as he struck the match with a sense of purpose, quickly lighting the cigarette before shaking out the flame. Then he inhaled deeply giving in to yet another addiction. The familiarity of it was comforting as he pulled the cigarette from his mouth feeling himself finally exhale into relaxation. He looked at Jean as he came around to the front of the desk and leaned back. Then folding his arms, he made the familiar gesture of tugging at his beard with thumb and forefinger.

It wasn't a secret that Jean found cigarette smoking distasteful. Having worked for the elder Doctor Blake all of those years, she was aware of how unhealthy it was and she found the smell to be offensive. But sitting there in that chair, she became quite captivated by his mannerisms as she watched him move through this ritual, lost in his own thoughts. Something about it felt so intimate and reminded her of when he played the piano. He appeared open and sensuous in a way that varied from his everyday demeanor. It was attractive and she shamefully wondered if this carried over into other intimate parts of his life. Her focus moved to his mouth as he once again passed the cigarette over his lips. She wasn't sure if she had ever seen him smoke before. His eyes were still red and glistening from crying and his hair tousled from the evening's previous adventure. Once again, his vulnerability struck her and she felt a small sense of grief over the fact that smoking was offering a type of solace she was unable to provide. She had so many questions now. The brief access he granted her, left her shaken but wanting to know more. He was so clearly wounded and she was somehow drawn to this, almost wishing he would do something to push her away. Just then, she faintly heard him say something in reference to another bad habit he picked up while serving and that brought her out of her reverie. While she didn't care if he smoked and was almost mesmerized by it, she did care that he was doing it in the house. And her face gave that away.

Without her having to say a word, Lucien took his last drag and put out the cigarette in the ash tray behind him. Feeling much better, he didn't want to push his luck.

"That's probably good for now," he conceded, staring right at her.

She smiled politely to acknowledge him then looked away, pretending not to care.

The silence in the room seemed threatening somehow. Lucien now regretted having said he needed to go to bed. He would never ask her outright not to leave him; he had too much pride and he certainly didn't want to be pitied. But he didn't want to be left alone. And he suspected she probably knew that.

The open seat next to Jean looked inviting so he lurched himself forward and settled heavily into the chair with a sigh, placing his hands on his thighs. After all that had just happened, he found himself wanting to be near her.

Trying his best to keep her there, he observed aloud, "You don't seem to have any bad habits," in reference to his earlier disclosure.

She rolled her yes and attempted a laugh, thinking he was teasing.

But he was quite serious. "What? You don't."

She scoffed, "Right…I'm a saint you could say".

Lucien huffed in response to this. Looking downward and shaking his head, he waited for a bit before finally mumbling under his breath, "You have no idea, Jean."

She was able to hear him though. She wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that but the look he then gave her proved to be telling and it made her nervous. She opted to address his first comment.

"Well, I'll let you in on a secret…"

"What's that?" He tried to sound nominally interested but something about the way she said it excited him.

She paused before admitting shyly, "I did actually smoke for a time. After Christopher died."

A look of surprise came across his face.

"Helped to calm the nerves I suppose. But honestly, it didn't agree with me much. I quit almost as quickly as i started."

Lucien, now half smiling, peered at her.

She felt the heat rising in her face. "What?", she said self-consciously.

"No, it's nothing, I just…can't imagine you smoking."

Without realizing it and not intending to, he managed to hurt her feelings. There was something about the way he said it that made her take offense. So right on cue, just as her desire for him was growing, Jean felt the need to protect herself. Subconsciously, she found a way to push him away.

"I see. Not sophisticated enough?"

Immediately he knew he had said the wrong thing but he didn't know why. His eyes widened as he was very quick to defend himself and set her straight. "No, quite the opposite in fact."

She looked skeptical but she let him continue.

"Meaning you're smarter than that."

Lucien was truly confused as to why she seemed upset. He hated to disappoint her as he respected her too much. And on the rare occasion she made a revelation about herself such as this, he could't help but feel like there was so much he didn't know about Jean. Or possibly he hadn't seen her up until recently. What he did know was that she too had been hurt. Life had been cruel in a different sort of way and he suspected that it forced her to be guarded, like him. Keeping this in mind, he treaded carefully.

"I hope that didn't come across the wrong way," he said apologetically.

Jean considered that maybe she overreacted. There was always a nagging doubt that she wasn't good enough for Lucien given their backgrounds. She wondered if he could do better and it was her own insecurities that prevented her from sharing too much for fear of being judged.

She was good at hiding it though as she smiled and assured him, "It's fine, Lucien. I was probably being sensitive."

He saw through her masque though. Her usual strength, which he so admired, was tempered by a subtle softness. This sublime mix induced a weakness in him.

She witnessed him withering and attempted to move on. "Well…it wasn't too long after I sold the farm. I had no idea really where I would end up and it wasn't a couple of months before I started working for your father. Once I was on my feet, I never felt the need anymore."

Now that she was talking he wanted to capitalize on it.

"And he treated you well?"

Thinking to herself that it was an odd question, she assumed he meant Christopher. "Who?"

He looked at her blankly. "My father."

"Well, yes of course."

Lucien, like Jean was curious about certain things, too. That day at the Dempster's farm, she had made a revelation about feeling empty and living with the consequences. And it never sat well with him. He knew his father had the tendency to be cold and part of him wondered if that contributed to her discontent, though he truly doubted he would have treated Jean poorly. And while her comment seemed very much related to a perceived past mistake, his real fear was that he himself was the cause for her unhappiness. Here he had this second chance at life, due in large part to her and he so wanted that for Jean too. So it was his turn to make and inquiry.

"And you've been happy here?"

Jean could tell from his line of questioning there was something he wanted to say. She felt her heart rate pick up, accompanied by overwhelming sense of wanting to retreat. This was not a question she could answer truthfully without revealing her feelings and her frustration came through in her tone.

"Yes, quite." She said it both politely and definitively, not allowing room for discussion

Lucien, now leaning forward in his chair, looked at her intently. While he had been willing to open up to her, it didn't seem she would do the same. He sensed her resistance and felt bad.

"Forgive me…", he said shaking his head. "…probably not a fair question of me to ask."

He then relaxed back into his seat.

With his movement, Jean's eyes were drawn to the tear in his shirt and she saw that the skin from his upper arm was exposed. It was tanned and she wondered how that was possible given he hardly wore anything but a suit.

'Not sure this shirt will be salvageable, Lucien. I can try to mend it tomorrow." As she spoke, she lifted the triangular piece of torn fabric and held it back in place against his arm . This innocent gesture tantalized him. He glanced down from the corner of his eye as her hand made contact with his arm.

Lifting his eyes towards her, he uttered, "I'm not too worried about it."

She then patted his hand gently letting him know, "You look tired. Maybe you should try to get some rest."

He didn't hold back in declaring, "I don't think I'll be getting much sleep tonight." Though instantly he regretted saying it.

There was an awkward silence interrupted by the creaking of the chair as Lucien shifted to avoid his discomfort.

She was aware that his comment was in reference to his nightmares and it saddened her. She wondered too if there was a proposition in what he said.

"I wish I were able to help." It seemed like a daring statement but she meant it.

Taken aback, he lowered his shoulders as he sighed in response to this. He wanted to tell her how much she had already helped but thinking about it overwhelmed him. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She cut him off before he could begin. "I think I'll head up now." She rose from her chair to make her exit.

Unsure of what to do, he stood up out of courtesy. "Right, ok."

When she got to the door, she turned around. "I really hope you're able to sleep, Lucien."

He opened his mouth again faintly but was unable to respond. He watched her leave as a familiar emptiness set in. He was sure he had done something to make her go.

Jean hurriedly ascended the stairs and upon making it to the top, she was desperate to catch her breath. After taking a moment to collect herself, she entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. She then collapsed on to her bed attempting unsuccessfully to stifle the urge to cry. She certainly had a heavy heart about leaving Lucien downstairs. He seemed so helpless and overwhelmed with everything and she felt somewhat responsible. But more than that, it was the impossibleness of everything that was weighing on her. While she could deal with her own feelings for him, what truly terrified her was that it seemed he had those same feelings for her.

She lay there for a good amount of time trying to reconcile everything, before wiping her tears and gathering herself. Finally, she mustered the energy to change out of her clothes and get ready for bed.

Lucien reasoned the best way to deal with his emotions was to go outside and smoke another cigarette. He took his time with it, running through the events of the evening in his mind over and over. He was still feeling slightly numb from having gone through the memories of his past and the anticipation of nightmares was unsettling. But his thoughts kept going back to Jean. He wondered if she was still not ready to move forward with her life. He was certain of his feelings for her by now and was growing restless.

Having lost track of time and feeling spent, the only thing left to do was clean himself up and go to bed. He was careful not to make a lot of noise as he entered the house, walking gingerly through the kitchen into the bathroom. Looking up at his reflection in the mirror, he whistled noticing he looked worse for wear. Examining the cut under his eye, he blindly reached down for the faucet and turned it a few times before realizing it was dry.

"Bloody hell."

Charlie had fixed the sink a couple of weeks ago but it seemed it there was sill an issue. The air moving through the pipes started to make a horrible racket prompting Lucien to slam his hand over the faucet abruptly in an attempt to shut it off. Apparently he would have to use the upstairs bathroom. Certain Jean was asleep by now, he made a hasty exit, as he grabbed a towel from the rack.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he reached the top and rounded the corner into the hallway but what he saw next surprised him. There was Jean standing in the bathroom, the door about halfway open. He stopped suddenly, contemplating whether to turn around. But before long, he found himself caught up in what was before him. She had just placed some of her things down and raised her hand to the back of her head, moving her fingers through her hair to loosen the tight curls. Not quite able to look away, he silently shifted to see if he could get a better view. Then he admonished himself that he should make his presence known. But instead, he stood there frozen, continuing to watch her.

Jean's nightclothes were a flattering blue, the material thin enough for Lucien to decipher that there was nothing underneath. Her pyjama top clung to her skin as she moved about, her slight frame revealing itself. The edge of the fabric rested delicately on her backside highlighting her curves and drawing Lucien's eyes downward.

He was quick to suppress his arousal only now starting to feel like he was possibly intruding.

Jean reached across the sink to grab a wash cloth and it was then that she became aware of Lucien's presence in the hallway. She was unable to see him fully, but she knew he was there. Standing in front of the sink, she paused momentarily as she considered turning around. Rather than prompt him, she resolved to wait. After what felt like an eternity, he continued to remain silent. She wondered what he was doing. Her stomach burned as she reasoned to herself that possibly he had come for her. Tired of keeping her emotions in check, she gave in to the feeling of wanting him there. In the past, she would have been frightened by him, unsure of what to make of his actions. But it was different now. She trusted him, feeling secure when he was around. So, she held still a few moments longer before finally deciding to let him watch her.

Jean went ahead with her routine, all the while being slow and deliberate with each of her movements. This varied from her usual graceful yet brisk manner which was not lost on Lucien. He was certain she would have turned around by now to confront him but rather, his intuition told him she knew he was there and that enticed him. Feeling encouraged, he started to approach her.

Having just wrung out the wash cloth, Jean retrieved her towel unaware that Lucien was drawing closer.

He studied her still as he continued to inch forward.

After drying her face, she removed her robe from the hook. Lifting it behind her, she skillfully reached each arm through the sleeves one at a time. After tying the front sash she gathered up her things along with her composure and squared her shoulders before turning around to face Lucien. She was caught off guard by how close he was. She half expected him to apologize but instead he appeared quite brazen to her. It had been a long time since she had witnessed it, but there was no mistaking the look in his eye.

She took a few steps forward until they were inches apart. Jean looked up at him and his eyes were so welcoming that for a brief moment, she didn't feel the need to hide her emotions from him. She found the courage to maintain eye contact as they both stood there, each waiting for the other to say something.

Finally he offered, "The sink downstairs…"

He was close enough that she could feel his breath on her.

She searched him for something more but that was all he could manage.

"What about it?"

He swallowed before indicating, "…it's broken again."

"Oh."

She glanced downward to see the towel dangling from his hand.

"So you came up here to use the bathroom?", not hiding her disappointment.

He didn't answer.

Instead, he tilted his head to the side and very tenderly observed aloud, "You look like you've been crying."

Suddenly the pounding of her heart became noticeably louder as Jean bit her lower lip and shook her head, not wanting him to know. In doing so, some loose strands of hair fell to the front of her face.

Lucien reached up with his fingers to secure her hair back behind her ear.

Just as he did, Jean seized his hand placing the side of her face into his palm lightly, then closed her eyes.

Not wanting to miss his opportunity, he extended his free hand around her waste and pulled her in tightly. So much so, that she lost her breath. He pressed his face to hers as he slowly moved his mouth to her ear and whispered, "Thank you, Jean." He held her for as long as she let him, and before letting go, he brushed his lips against her cheek with a delicate kiss.

Jean stood stunned for a moment, feeling weak and warm inside. The words "Good night, Lucien," made their way out of her mouth but she couldn't remember uttering them.

He kept his eyes glued to her as she somehow found the strength to walk down the hallway back into her bedroom.

Only after she closed the door, could she hear him say, "Goodnight, Jean."

END


End file.
